Not With A Bang But With A Whimper
by read-a-holic1
Summary: It is so very easy to say I would die for you. But, would I live for you? Klaine, m/m, angst, self-harm, violence, fluff, psycho-analysis/existential questioning (potential mental triggers), non/con.
1. Life is Very Long

It is so very easy to say I would die for you. But, would I live for you?

Chapter One: Life is Very Long

The days started just as any other. Kurt woke up to the shrill sounds of Lady Gaga ringing in his ears, mechanically dressed himself, checking briefly that he was not wearing the same outfit as prior that week. If he was not, then off to the vanity he would go; to coif his hair, carefully, before grabbing his messenger bag and heading out the door. His keys in hand, he walked towards his car, carefully watching the ice beneath his feet. Once he arrived, he slipped inside, placed the bag on the seat, and once again reminded himself why he continued. After an attempt at an enthusiastic talk, he gave it up, just as he had every other morning, turned the key in the ignition and began the short, monotonous drive into the hell that less knowledgeable people liked to call William McKinley High School.

I slowly turned into the parking lot, and carefully parked my car into the far corner. My beautiful car, brand new when my dad had bought it for me, just over two years ago, which had long since been dented from the attempts of the jocks to ensure that I knew my place. It had since been refurbished, and I hoped that that would discourage them from trying again. I sincerely doubted it. I swiftly left my car, heading with single minded determination towards the front doors of the school, hoping that the early hour I had arrived would deter the Neanderthals. It was not to be. No further than five steps from the front doors, Azimio stepped in front of me, a menacing smile upon his face. I looked over my shoulder, and sure enough, there was Karofsky, his face covered in a secure mask, as he loomed over me.

So he wasn't out of the closet. I could not out him… that would be disastrous. I doubt that I would live very long if I did, if I could even live with myself if I did. So, I took it all, silently, stoically… well, until I was able to bitch back at them, then. Well, that did not always help. If I couldn't, if it made it worse, then I retreated, emotionally distant, behind my façade. It was almost perfect now, a seamless blend between myself and it. Sometimes I wondered at the difference myself. People say that you should talk about your problems. What do they know? The 'guidance counsellor' was otherwise preoccupied… they do say that psychologists chose that field because they desperately want to be psycho-analysed. Well, in some cases it is not want, it is desperately need.

One might as well ask where the Glee Club is in all this harassment. The wonderful New Directions, with their feelings of unity, and how they cherish each of us as members of a family. Well, there is always the _child_ who is overlooked, left standing in the corner while the more exuberant ones or the more dependent ones snatch up the attention, and are only remain begging, desperately for more. They are unwilling to look past their own petty problems, to see the greater picture. Not that I would blame them, after all, who would want to associate themselves with the _fag_ of McKinley? Who would wish to tar themselves with such a brush, and leave themselves even lower on the social ladder then they already are.

I wait for five minutes, a customary habit, as I hear the heavy treads of the jocks feet leave the near vicinity. Cautiously, with practised movements, I remove myself from the dumpster. It had been empty, so there was only the vague putrid smell that clung to my clothes. I shook my head in disgust, with easy motions I ensured that there was no worse damage than bruising, before making my way, once more, inside.

They say it gets better. Well, it cannot get better than this, the _high_ life. Friends, who will swear that they are here for you, and the next instant, they are off, concerned with their own problems, unable to see what is before their eyes, clearly displayed to the continued observer. All facades have weaknesses, both when they are very new, and also when they are very old. When they are new, it is because they are unsure, of how they act normally. This is one of the easiest times to observe that something is wrong, if you would care to. But of course, if you don't… well that is a different matter. When they are very old, they carry exhaustion, it becomes apparent that there is something wrong, but there is nothing you can do about it, because they are so used to holding this secret within them, that they cannot do anything else, to tell would be to lose an integral part of themselves. So, what should you do when the secret has been held for so very long, almost your whole life? When you have said nothing since you were just a tiny child of three years old, and now you stand, or rather cower silently internally, as a young, homosexual male, of seventeen years? There is nothing that can be done, so once must move on. Soon, so very soon, you will be able to go, to leave this infernal damnation, and try anew, to craft a new life. Soon. Soon. But will it be soon enough?

I glanced down at my timetable, the beginning of senior year meant Calculus, another ferocious thing to struggle with. I calmed my face, held my breath, and covertly checked my reflection. The make-up had held. Good, though I doubt that it would have made any difference if it had not. It was simply easier this way, easier to pretend that they did not know, that they did not see, not that it had been there, painted upon my face in layers of black, purple, and yellow with a tint of green, and they had simply let it slide by.

The bell rang, a call to the prison, summoning all of us into the containment, for another year. I slipped, silently, through the crowds, subconsciously weaving between the busy streams as people moved towards their classes. I stood before the door, swallowed quickly, there could be no doubt now, only one year. Only ten little months, and I would be free. I stepped over the threshold, and headed towards the seat directly before the teacher. That would provide me with at least the veneer of protection, and those Neanderthals would not act quite so readily if it was under his nose, well that of any other teacher. This one, however, Mr. Hinton, was firmly conservative, and myself, being a fashionable gay, simply did not fit into his idealistic world of white, Christian, heterosexual people. I managed to offend him, just be breathing. The thought of calculus now weighted my mind down even further. Just prior to the final bell, he strode into the room. His face, contorted with a heavy scowl, searching through the room, before focusing on myself. I looked towards my books, attempting to seem completely enthralled in such a subject. He glanced away, selected a seat and sat, but not before jeering at me, the word _fairy_ slipping off his tongue with great easy, a hypocritical statement. Though, Karofsky was rather far into the closet… Hmm, I wonder how he would react to a Narnia joke. The thought made me shiver, though I am not certain whether it was due to fear, or perhaps, just a slight section, a slim part of me, hoped that it would cause him to be violent; to hurt me, as I so rightly deserved. Resolutely, I squashed that part of myself down, far away from my conscious mind, and focused, determinedly upon the work; that had appeared on the board before me during my mental absence.

It was not long before I felt the eyes on me, digging into the back of my skull. Tempting me to squirm, like an animal, pinned and wriggling upon the wall. I could not, to do so would be to admit that anything was occurring, and nothing was, I would not let the memories sweep over me. I stubbornly ignored the feeling. There was nothing wrong. There would never be anything wrong. I was fine, I was safe. I directed my mind once again to the tedious math in from of me, forcing it to stay on such a topic, instead of heading, as it threatened, into more dangerous, murky waters.


	2. This is the Dead Land

Chapter Two: This is The Dead Land

People have said that others get it worse. I guess that they don't mean getting groped by an inconsiderate jock; who has sexually assaulted you in the past, and seems to have intentions to keep on doing it. This was once my body, something that I was proud of, now. It is nothing, merely a blank slate that belies the pitted surface beneath it. Or rather, it used to be blank. Nothing will show, not unless you look very closely, and it is necessary with all the slushies to wear long sleeves- so that your arms do not freeze, is it such a wonder then, that I would use it to hide other things? Those things that make it easier to walk around, with a fearless expression of superiority. But let's not think of those, they are for the hours, late at night, when my dad is asleep in bed. No need to worry about anything, if I can simply make it through the day.

The bell for the end of classes rang out, clearly. Now, would be their opportunity to strike. I moved as quickly as I could, in an attempt to remain safe. It was not to be so. A locker check on my way to the doors, as well as an elbow to the ribs, I can feel the pain radiating as it struck the layers of bruising. I did not even make a sound, so used am I to such treatment. I relaxed my muscles, ensured that there would be no further cause for pain and then confidently strode into the choir room. It was filled with the loud, squabbling members of my _family. _I sighed, silently, as my eyes looked from one to another, my darling best friend, to the self-proclaimed bad-ass, the loud diva and her obnoxious boyfriend. How I had learnt to hate them. It was not the type of hatred that simply came upon a moment, no, this had festered for years. It had been turned into something that filled up my insides, and motivated me to continue, the rage and pain dragged me through, and kept me moving. Who could blame me, is I just added a touch more incentive, to add a little more pain, something that would keep me in control.

I heard them sing a song, the lyrics did not even enter into my conscious thought, though I have a suspicion, a rather strong one, that as I automatically heard them, I mentally scoffed, they were once more singing about love and acceptance. How delightfully quaint, should I be worried, or at least somewhat concerned, about just how cynical I sound in my own head. It matters not. I let my mind drift, distracting it with the latest fashions from Vogue, that I had poured over intently in one of my earlier classes. My thoughts occupied with determining outfits, I gave all appearance of attention, while not a whit was I granting them. They had never returned me the same courtesy, and I felt no inclination whatsoever, to deliberately pamper their egos, it would not be worth it after all.

I looked down at my arm. My nails had been digging into the wrist. A bad habit, there were the remains of red imprints from the carefully manicured tips. Carelessly, but with subtlety, I lowered my sleeves. They would so love to have some drama created. I would so abhor giving them the object of their desire. Oh no, I was doing it again. Resolutely, I grabbed at my wrist, preventing such a habit from forming, if I could. It was entirely too visible, and too unconsciously done. It is essential that I know exactly what I am doing, and when I am doing it. To do otherwise, would be to invite disaster.

They finish their song. I applaud, and plaster a fake smile on my face. Let them believe that they will accomplish their dreams that the world will fall upon their feet to please them and to accede to their wishes. I would not ever intend of waking them up to the reality of the world in which we live. It is by far too amusing. Particularly Rachel, the lovely diva, with so much talent, that it simply spills out of her, in the form of an overbearing voice, and ambition that is clouded by emotion. Most of the others seem to be content to remain here, in this pathetic town that is not even visible upon a map. There is nothing remarkable about it, with an underwhelming population, and we do not even have the gratification of having someone famous having been born here. It is nothing, inconsequential. I will not become so. I will persevere, there is no other way.

Mr. Schuester has dismissed us. I wonder if he noticed that I did not say a word, or sing a note. That I have done neither for over a semester. Let us see just how long it takes to realise just how blind he is, how blind they all are. When will they become aware enough to realise? I will not settle. It will not be so, I will go out into the world, and succeed. I have ambitions, which have been tempered by life, and I know just what I need to do in order to achieve them. They are realistic. They are attainable. They do not rely upon chance. They will do.

Another day has begun. It follows the same monotonous pattern as that before it, and I highly doubt that it will be broken tomorrow. After all, why would anything change? Would I want it to? I slipped into calculus, hidden, before silently taking notes. Another day, it takes me one day closer to the end, closer to the end of this pit, this hell. I drift in and out of classes, dazedly paying a slight amount of attention in English, retreating to the library during PE (Who would want the _fairy _to look at them? Beware, they will spread the dust.). Once more, to the choir room I go. My feet will begin to make pathway, one that I am sure I will travel down again and again, until I wear it into the tiled floor.

I trudge, or rather, an elegant and poised version of one, to the room. I take a seat at the back. Where I may observe all who are shown, all who are allowed to be seen, that is all who are not me. It makes no difference to me, I attempt to remind myself. I care not for them. And indeed, it is so, but I do wish for the type of companionship that they share with one another. But I am too strange, too different, neither a 'manly' man, nor a woman. I am accepted nowhere, something that you just get used to, after a while, a very long while.

Silent, that seems to be the best word to describe me, and controlled, emotionally distanced, I am ready to face another song. However, first, there comes a knock on the door. A voice, with soft tones, inquires politely.

"Excuse me, sir; I was wondering if this was the New Direction's rehearsal."

Mr. Schuester looks dumbfounded at such a sigh of respect, and politeness. Rachel stands up and scrutinises the man at the door. Whatever she deduces seems to please her, as she nods, before resuming her seat. This seems to inspire a reaction in Mr. Schuester, as he turns away from the man at the door, and nods his head.

"Excellent. Thank you. My name is Blaine Anderson, and I would love to audition for a position in this club."

As he says this, still in those unfailing polite tones, he steps forward. His dark hair is cemented to his scalp, and gleams in the faint lights of the classroom. He is dressed with style, and even incorporating some of the latest fashions, which only complements his colouring. Finally, his eyes, such exquisite pots of warm brown hazel, almost like honey, in a way are drawn to my attention. He looks so honest and sincere. He will probably lose that innocence and innate consideration within a month, if that. Santana whistles;

"Wanky."

There appears to be a consensus of agreement between the girls. They nod to Mr. Schuester, who smiles in a relieved manner, before nodding at Blaine, indicating that he performs. Blaine steps towards the piano, and directs Brad, the pianist, to begin when he feels ready. Blaine himself, steps into the centre of the room, facing all of the New Directions. There appears to be an air of confidence about him that hangs and is indisputable. His stance is loose, casual, and completely at ease. It is almost as if he is unaware of how any potential for popularity that he might have had, is about to leave. It is about to run away with its tail between its legs.

Soon, this gorgeous guy will be like the rest of them. Not at all polite, that will be lost by constant association, and certainly he will ignore me. I, who am the outcast of the rejects. The music starts, almost unidentifiable, but soon I determine the song. Just as the introduction ends, Blaine winks at me. A wink, filled with confidence, and it steals a smile, which it forcibly attaches to me face. _I do not have a crush; most certainly not on Mr Anderson. It is not happening. I will not let it happen._

They say that denial does not ever work. I will prove them wrong, not that there is anything to deny at all. I forced myself to listen once more to his voice. His buttery voice, as warm as honey, was crooning the lyrics to Katy Perry's _Teenage Dream_. There was no way that this guy was real. He was putting any chance of success in high school on the line. He finished the song, too quickly and too slowly. I wanted it to last forever, but it needed to end, I, for my sanity, needed to have my sanity retained. There was nothing else to do, I would block him from my mind, and not even talk to him, unless it was necessary. I could not be rude, that would raise questions, but I could not talk to him. It would lead me on in my imaginings. I must retreat.

He walked towards me. Evidently, he had been accepted. With a voice like that, how couldn't he be? So, another member of the New Directions, wonderful, he is still walking towards me. Why? Oh, there is an empty seat. He grins, it splits his face wide open, makes him look like a pleased puppy. No, I cannot think of him like that. I will not permit myself. I permit myself a small smile in return, before obviously facing the front, and redirecting my attention to Mr. Schuester. Or rather, trying, desperately to do so, and failing miserably. It is apparently not to be, this man. This man, who had just waltzed into Glee, who was so gorgeous that I was unable to even focus, who seemed not to fear, or at least, not be aware of the repercussions of his actions, was sitting next to me. I must ignore him. It will only cause him pain, and humiliation, if he is seen in my company. The greater good… and now I am quoting Dumbledore. Can I sink any lower in this depravity?

He has turned towards me. I focus once more upon Mr. Schuester, what are we doing now? Duets… ah, that explains the sudden attention. Well, we have even numbers now; I think I will see if Mercedes is free… Apparently not, Sam has grabbed her, I wonder. Now, it has become obvious, that Fate intends to pull me along, and string me up to dry. Naturally I am paired with Blaine. I guess that I will just have to keep it on a professional level. There is nothing else that I can do for him.


	3. Let Me Be No Nearer

Chapter Three: Let Me Be No Nearer

"Hey."

I could not comment, only gave a slight inclination of my head at his enthusiastic greeting. I would not sing a love song with him. There must be something else, perhaps a song that would be about lost hopes and dreams. That could work. One that would require no emotional connection, but rather one that everyone knew, so that we would not have to spend extend periods of time together. I got out my iPod and scanned through my songs.

"Hello, what range do you have?" These are the first words that I have spoken within the choir room for so very long, that it almost sounds strange to my ears.

"I'm a tenor, and you?"

"I sing countertenor. Do you have any ideas for songs?"

"How about _Hot N Cold_, by Katy Perry?" I raise an eyebrow. He seems to understand.

"Well, um, _So What_, by P!nk?" I ponder over this.

"That could work. Do you have the lyrics?" It is upbeat, not exceedingly emotional, and there is not chance whatsoever of it being taken in a way that would prove dangerous for him. Chance will not permit him to get injured. It cannot, I will not let it. The pain is my burden to carry. I will not share it, for it will not help. I imagine that he, like all the other delusional fools who surround me, believe that prejudice is just ignorance, and that it can be overcome. Once upon a time, in fact it was not even that long ago, I was like that to.

Life moves on, and you grow up.

"If you like, I can print off the lyrics, and we can meet up to divide the song, and practice?"

He looks like an overgrown puppy with enormous eyes pleading up at you for approval. I nod, slowly, cursing mentally at those eyes.

"How does tomorrow afternoon sound?"

That shocks me. No one spends time with me outside of school. Well, Finn does, but that is only when it is necessary. I presume that he is either completely oblivious to my natural state, screaming clearly of my homosexuality, or that he comes from a mythical place. Where it is alright to be gay; where it does not automatically warrant you disgusted looks, and hatred. A place where there is no contempt for people like myself. Like a place where I would love to be. Unfortunately, I sincerely doubt that there are any within the Mid-West of the US.

He seems to be waiting patient for a response. For half a moment I am terrified that he will start pouting once more. I scorn, it makes no difference how he looks, because I do not care. I will not care. I cannot care.

"I am afraid that I cannot meet up then. What period is your lunch?"

"That's too bad. Um," he quickly checks his timetable, "Fourth. And you?"

"The same," my voice is a monotone, I cannot enjoy his company. "We will meet here then, at the beginning of the break?"

"That sounds brilliant." He grins, again, it seems to cut his face in half, and makes it come alive. The sheer beauty within it… I cut off the train of thought. I may not think of those things. It would not be appropriate. I will not do it. I cannot become close to him.

Then, to my relief, Mr. Schuester dismisses us. Composedly, in an attempt to hide my inner turmoil, I pick up my bag and walk for the door. Unfortunately, I do not quite make it there. Blaine is tapping on my shoulder. I turn, with an enquiring eyebrow raised.

"Would you mind, um, exchanging numbers? Just in case, um, either of us gets caught up with something?"

I ponder over the request. It would not hurt, now, could it? I could not get any lower down upon the social scale, and he appeared to be honest. If he was not, it would be a wonderful excuse to change my number, and consequently lose my _friends_. I hold my hand out for his phone, and upon receiving it, quickly enter my number. I passed over my phone for the same process. Blaine returns it, swiftly; I nod my head, and continue on my way.

"Bye. See you tomorrow."

This common courtesy shocks me. People are not polite to me. I do not deserve it. I acknowledge the parting phrase, before leaving with a determined stride to the safety of my car.

I arrive home swiftly. My head pounding with thoughts of Blaine, it will not cease. How could he imagine talking to me? It will cause him serious problems. My phone beeps, and I glance down:

_Blaine: I hope that this is the right number. See you tomorrow. B_

**Me: You too.**

I desperately want to exclaim over his adorable behaviour, but there is no one to listen. No one ever does. I isolate myself downstairs, hidden in my basement. Slowly, I bring my school work out and attempt to captivate myself with the wonders of physics. It does not work, my thoughts continue to drift to Blaine. How could they not?

I remember how he smiles, so widely, with such an expression of pure joy. I imagine that it will not be long before he realises the truth of me. The thought quickly puts an end to my memories. I struggle through my homework, skip dinner, and attempt to sleep, waiting for the next day.

I wake, early, after a restlessness night of sleep. With practised ease, I get ready for school, before scampering out the door. As I get to school, I see the jocks. They are gathered, apparently waiting for me. I look around for an escape, and desperately wish that there was an alternative entry into school. It is not to be so. They gather around me, the other students leave a great circle, as they avoid the scene.

They heave me up; I do not even try to struggle, as it merely makes it worse. They walk towards the dumpster, and just outside, I let my bag drop from my fingers, to rest close enough that it will not be trampled upon. The lid has been opened, but a shout distracts them from their task.

"Excuse me, what are you doing?" The polite voice of Blaine Anderson reaches my ears.

"Giving the fag what he deserves," seems to be the general consensus. I shudder, close my eyes and prepare for Blaine to walk away. This is Ohio, it is perfectly acceptable. Fags are unnatural perverts, they deserve to be straightened out, and this is a wonderful method to use. They do not need true friends; even the misfits do not notice them.

"I do not think that the football coach would appreciate her players being suspended, or expelled for bullying, do you?" There is silence through the group, as they stand dumbfounded. I slip, silently, down from where they were holding me, using the edge of the dumpster to ensure that it isn't quite so difficult. I make my way undetected as the Neanderthals stand, stock still, their minds still determining the validity of the threat that Blaine had offered.

My skin has turned bright red, and my mind is overturned. No one and I mean not one single person within this school, stands up for the resident fag. Except for Blaine, apparently, but they will change once the jocks think that they will get away with threatening him, and he will end up leaving, as his self-preservation instincts kick in. Though, it did save my McQueen scarf this morning. I hurry along the halls, to my locker, before hiding in the girl's bathroom, to filter through my emotions. Subconsciously, I mutter underneath my breath,

'Stupid, how could I have been so late? I know what happens if I am, and now Blaine will get bullied for it to. At the very least, a slushie, he'll stop talking to me, why would he even want to? But he seems so nice… I guess that he will be afraid. I am a walking target, with my breathing out rainbows and glitter, like the stereotypical fag.'

A hand on my shoulder makes me break off. I turn, and there are those warm hazel eyes, bearing into mine. His face, so open and honest, seems to be searching me, looking for the answer to some question. He opens his mouth, as though considering speaking, before closing it once more. Then finally, in a soft tone, he asks gently,

"Are you alright Kurt?" I nod, unable to speak at the consideration that he has shown me. Whenever we have 'guests' some of the teachers will prevent the bullying, for the short instance, but never have they shown such concern, it shocks me. How can he care? My mind is boggled by this.

"Are you going to report this?" My eyes go wide, as I frantically shake my head.

"No, don't please, don't," it is almost a whimper, and the note of fear in my voice is unmistakeable. My cries eventually dissolve into sobbing, while frantically trying to gasp in air. His hand on my shoulder creeps over, as he brings me into a hug. He feels so warm, the strange touch is so welcome, so very calming. I cannot remember the last time that I had a hug, but this seems to me to be one of the best. I can feel his warm breath on my ear as he tells me to just let it all out, that everything will be alright.

It takes some time, but eventually the sobs slow down, before stopping completely, shown only by my red eyes and the stain on Blaine's shirt from my tears. He silently hands me a handkerchief, and a distorted giggle escapes from my throat at his dapperness. He raises his comical triangular eyebrows at me, and more laughter appears. It feels freeing, rejuvenating.

"Are you alright?" He softly whispers, with such feeling in his voice, that it almost makes my tremble. I can only shrug, before replying,

"I'm a little better." He seems, while not happy, slightly content with this answer, if his small smile is any indication.

"That's good." He pulls out a pocket watch, glances at it, before restoring it to his pocket.

"I think that we've missed most of first period. There isn't much point in going." He keeps his tone casual, as I feel the guilt stir in my stomach, over taking so much of his time.

"I'm so sorry, you could probably go and make the last little bit of it, say that it was all my fault-" His hand cuts me off again, as he grabs my hand, and entwines his fingers with mine, before squeezing gently.

"Don't worry, it's nothing, I can catch the work up later. And it isn't your fault, okay?" I feel tempted to shake my head, but to disagree with him would be to be ungrateful for his concern. I wonder what he gets out of it, what his motives are. The thought makes my eyes tear up slightly, but I do not permit them to fall again. I have already made myself appear weak in front of him, it cannot happen again.

"Hey, what's wrong? Can I help?" His kindness shocks me to the core, no matter how many times he shows it. I shake my head, but he seems to ignore it, because he takes the handkerchief from my hand, and wipes the tear trails from my face. The oddly sweet gesture makes the tears worse. I cannot stop, but I desperately want to. He pulls me into another hug, and my nose is once again filled with the scent of him. Cinnamon, coffee, and something that I cannot quite determine, but makes it seem so sweet and honest. I bury my face into the scent, almost nuzzling him.

I should feel embarrassed, mortified, that I am doing this. But I do not, it simply feels natural, to be held close to him, within his care and his warmth. I can feel the stirrings of a crush in my stomach, and I ruthlessly try to quench them. It would push him away, even if the bullies don't. I mumble some indistinguishable words into his shirt, and I can feel him move his head from where it is rested on my own, so that he can look at me.

"What was that?" He asks, so very sweetly.

"Thank you." It is just a whisper, for I am terrified that this is just a dream, or that it will frighten him back into reality, where gay people are shuffled off into the corners, hidden, until they are ridiculed. Friendless, unless they can help someone, and dropped immediately afterwards. There is no consolation of company, because there is no one else at McKinley who is gay… or simply no one else who is open about it. I can understand why that might be the case. I must steel my heart.

I stand up, and gently pull out of Blaine's arms. I ignore the temptation to simply remain there for eternity. I retreat to the sinks in order to fix my appearance, before I return to the painful corridors and the no doubt endless locker slams that are going to come my way.

"Is there anything that I can do?" Blaine asks, as he looks over at me. I attempt to brush it off, to divert him to a safer topic.

"I'm good, thanks. We are still meeting, for the duet?" I use a nonchalant tone, hoping that it will distract him, or at least make him think that it is not too important. He seems to realise this, for he looks at me, carefully scrutinizing very detail, before slowly nodding.

'Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world." His smile grows, and his face shines with the glow of happiness. He is an adorable puppy indeed. My heart stutters, as I try to act unaffected by his delight. My smile betrays me.

I stand, nod my head, and thank him quickly, before exiting the bathroom, heading in the direction of my second class for the day. My phone beeps in my pocket;

_Blaine: Still a rock star ;)._

I raise my eyebrows, unsure of how to react. Carefully, I type a reply.

**Me: Thanks. See you later.**

I only just resisted the temptation to add an emoticon. But I cannot, that would mean encouraging him, and enjoying his company. That would make it hurt more when he eventually leaves, it is inevitable. I return my phone to my pocket, and stride, determinedly, through the cleared path that is made for me, towards class.

What I don't realise until much later, is that there is a smile on my face, just a small one. However, compared to the normal bitch glare, or aloof expression, the difference is exceptionally obvious.


End file.
